All That Remains
by Raintag
Summary: When your reality has been shattered like so much cheap glass...when decisions dance between Heaven and Hell on a tightrope and your every move has the potential to send what little there is left plummeting over the edge...how far would you be willing to go to salvage it? (AU based on 'The Last of Us'.) (Cover art by Toni42.)
1. Chapter 1

**(*waves*) Hey. Here's something that I've been working on for quite a long time. I love _Minecraft: Story Mode_ and I love _The Last of Us_ , so when this concept danced its way into my mind, how could I not run with it and see what I could come up with?**

 **This first chapter was...surprisingly difficult to write - by which I mean, I've finished and scrapped and _re_ written it at least five times, almost certainly more, and I'm still convinced that it's the worst thing my useless hands have ever produced (which is saying something, I know). That said, I am happy to finally be able to get it out there and I hold out hope that some of you guys do like it, so here goes nothing.**

* * *

They'd been married five years ago, in early Spring. The sky had been blue with whitish tints that day, endless and perfect, and it wasn't as though either of them had minded the fitful showers of rain one bit. Not when they'd both been so happy.

 _Happy_ was something she'd once expected never to feel again. She'd reconciled herself to that fact - or, at least, she'd convinced herself that she had. Happiness, love, peace, comfort...those had been little more than words back then, none of them meant for people like her.

But she didn't have to dwell on that anymore, she reminded herself, gloved hands busy tinkering with the cauldron she'd been leaning over for the past few hours as darkness began to drive off the daylight on the other side of the window. There was really no need to. Not since Ivor had come into her life, anyway.

Speaking of Ivor...

He wasn't quite as proficient at sneaking up on her as he used to be. Or maybe she'd simply grown used to it over the years. Either way, she sensed someone stealing into her little redstone lab and coming up from behind several seconds before a pair of arms wrapped themselves around her.

"You work too hard," a familiar voice reprimanded into her hair.

A grin tugged at Harper's lips. She turned to return the gesture but, upon spotting the flowers clutched in Ivor's hand (each one fresh and flawless with smooth, perfectly formed petals and tied together with braided grass stems), instead settled for rolling her eyes even as she pressed a thankful kiss to his cheek.

Ever since she'd let slip that flowers weren't something she'd seen a lot of while living and working in the mesa, Ivor had taken it upon himself to bring her what seemed to be every colour and variety of bloom he could find. It was for that reason that the little flowerpots that crowded the house's windowsills were always well-stocked with a rainbow of plants.

"I could say the same for you," she countered, feeling his eyes on her back as she walked around him to slip the posy into one of said pots.

Ivor let out a long sigh, the sound low and weary, and leaned back slightly against the workbench. "Touché. The difference being, of course, that _I_ have good reason."

"So have I." Harper gestured towards her current project, another grin crossing her face as Ivor stepped closer to both her and the contraption to take a closer look. "Let me demonstrate."

In one deft, fluid movement, she picked up the bucket of water that had been sitting patiently atop a chest off to the side and emptied it into the cauldron she'd been bending over. A faint mechanical click, a narrow stream of water flowing down from some kind of system in the ceiling into a channel ready to catch it, and the lab door slid open as seamlessly as if by an invisible hand.

"Wow," Ivor muttered, casting his wife an admiring glance in between his close examination of the cauldron. "What a builder."

"Make sure you don't drool on my floor, now," she called wryly over her shoulder without missing a beat, her soft smile a mirror for his own.

(Except that hers was utterly beautiful, of course.)

"That wasn't quite what I meant, though," he continued, smile dropping as he turned his gaze to the opposite wall. "I meant the wave of sickness that's broken out across the centre of the city."

Harper paused in her tracks. "Sickness?" she echoed, eyebrows raised to her hairline. "What sort of sickness?"

"It's nothing you need to worry yourself about," he hastened to assure her, holding up a hand into the space between them. His voice dipped into a slight grumble. "I suspect all it means is that yet again, somebody in town got sick, others ended up infecting themselves by violating the basic rules of common sense, and I have to spend my every waking moment working on potions to fix whatever's going wrong this time."

She slowly tilted her head to the side, looking at him through narrowed eyes for several long moments.

"Be careful doing that," he said in a lighter tone, gently tapping the creases in her forehead with his finger.

The frown melted away and she playfully swatted at his hand with her best mock-stern look, evidently deciding to drop the matter.

He had a point regarding her work ethic; she couldn't lie to herself in that respect. It had always been something like her modus operandi, working and hypothesising and working and testing and _working_ until Ivor threatened to hide or take away her equipment so that she would tear herself away from her lab and get a decent night's rest for once. Not that he would ever have done such a thing, of course; when it came down to it, Ivor was a terrible enabler in a similar sort of way that he was a wonderful partner in every sense of the word.

But she supposed that, in this case, she was indeed done for the night...although only as long as he was too.

If there was one thing they both knew by now, it was that there was no better sort of lullaby to fall asleep to than that of a familiar heartbeat next to your own.

* * *

Harper woke up to a dark room, an empty space beside her and a chill in the air.

It shouldn't have been cold on such a mild night. But this was a different sort of cold, the kind that prickled the back of Harper's neck and set tiny shivers chasing each other down the length of her spine.

First things first. She put out a hand, blindly running it over the spot next to her. Cold. Wherever Ivor was, he'd been gone for some time.

Her fingers found the redstone lamp beside the bed and a halo of light illuminated everything in the vicinity, falling softly onto the silver frame of their wedding picture.

Five years. Five rollercoaster years that had pulled the both of them swiftly through each and every up and down and finally allowed them to end up where they were now. And that was why she wouldn't change or take back any of it for anything.

Harper bit her lip hard, then came to a decision and swung her legs out of bed. His potions workbench was empty, save for a cauldron half-full of what appeared to be an unfinished, congealed healing potion.

 _Unless he's been sneaking away to try and work on the sly again...it wouldn't be the first time_ , she told herself as she traced a finger along the edge of the table, forcing the anxious thrum in her heart to steady itself.

But then why would he, workaholic that he was (not that she was in any position to criticise), leave a potion partly finished even if that were the case? A healing potion, no less? And where in the world was he now?

"Ivor?" she called into the silence, wincing at the way her voice seemed to come out an octave or two higher than usual. The carpet swallowed the sound of her footsteps.

All of the windows she passed were closed, latched firm with the curtains drawn. That might've helped someone else to feel a little safer. But it made Harper's lips tighten, her body subconsciously arranging itself into what she still privately considered her 'battle stance', even if it had been a long time since such a stance had been necessary.

And it was for one single reason: namely, that they had _never_ , not once during all the weeks and months and years they'd called this house home, had every window shut all at the same time. Ivor knew that Harper liked it when cool breezes drifted in (especially after spending so long trapped in the suffocating heat of the mesa) and _she_ knew that, for all his griping about rain and insects getting in and possibly contaminating his potions, the man would never deny her anything that made her a little happier.

 _SMASH!_

Something shot straight through the nearest window, instantly reducing it to sharp fragments. Harper jerked back instinctively, stumbling over an uneven patch of carpet, arms raising to ward off the threat.

...which turned out to be a wild-eyed green blur scrambling to its feet.

Harper's flinch fell into a scowl and she let her arms drop, irritated with both herself and- "Magnus, _what_ do you think you're doing?"

"Where's Ivor?" he demanded, almost cutting her off. His head whipped from side to side as if he thought Ivor could be hiding in a corner or behind a curtain somewhere.

Harper could almost have snorted. "Took the words right out of my mouth," she replied dryly, running her hands through her hair.

Magnus rolled his eyes behind his mask and thrust his arms out, gesturing uselessly with his gloved hands. "Somethin'... _bad's_ goin' on," he stated with a low growl in his voice, apparently under the impression that this constituted a decent explanation.

As though on cue, a distant scream rent the air and sent ice through the very marrow of Harper's bones. And at almost exactly the same moment, the front door slammed open and Ivor all but fell over the threshold, face terribly pale.

"Ivor? Where have you been?"

At the sound of his wife's tense voice, Ivor whipped around and pushed Magnus aside to cup Harper's face in his hands, eyes scanning her with a frantic rapidity. "Are you all right? Nobody's come in here, have they?"

"Not unless you count Magnus diving in through the window," Harper deadpanned, examining him almost as closely as he was scrutinising her (and absent-mindedly leaning into his touch as she did so).

"Don't wanna interrupt or anything," Magnus drawled, "but ya have any idea what's goin' on out there?" He jerked his head towards the tightly-shut windows (well, except for the one with a glaringly obvious griefer-shaped hole in its pane), eyes peering out into the night.

Harper looked at Ivor, but he was following Magnus's gaze. "I have some notion," he muttered, the words steeped in sarcasm. He tried to shove Harper behind him, but she pulled herself free of his grip and instead made him face her.

"What is going on?"

Ivor finally met her eyes. But somehow she got the impression that he wasn't really seeing her at all. "That sickness...it's worse than I thought. It's spreading," he told her, the words spilling into one another. "And it's doing things to people. Things I've never seen before. It's like they're being eaten alive, from the inside out. The people in the city who weren't... _sick_ were supposed to stay in their homes until further notice. But of course they wouldn't listen."

Something frigid stole through Harper's chest. She shook her head as hard as she could muster in an attempt to dispel the nightmarish mental images painting themselves around Ivor's words. "So..." she got out, before taking a deep, steadying breath and continuing with more strength. "How do we- what does that mean?"

"What it _means_ ," Magnus cut in from where he was standing with one hand tight around the doorknob, "is that we gotta get the Hell outta here. _Now_."

He glanced from Ivor, who was staring directly ahead with his jaw set, to Harper, her muscles tensing in anticipation, then graced them with a single nod before throwing the door open.

"Go, go, go, _go_!"

And they ran. Tripping over each other even as they tried to push and tug one another along. Seeing and hearing the turmoil assaulting their senses yet not really taking it in, whether they were unable to process it or simply refused to.

People running and screaming in all directions like they could outstrip Death itself. Primal instincts manifesting themselves as bodies rammed and lunged at and grappled with one another in their attempts to get themselves to safety. Random belongings, the relics of broken lives, strewn all over the ground. Children stumbling along with drowning eyes and pets or younger siblings or bundles of worldly goods nestled in their arms.

Incomprehensible cries, far-off explosions, a tempest of footsteps, the hiss of flames blazing amongst ruins, the shouted names of missing relatives all rising and falling and intermingling into some twisted version of a symphony that battered the air and the mind.

"Heard the guards are tryna block up the roads. Guess they think that'll stop it from spreading," Magnus explained between ragged bursts of breath. "First they said that it was just the people out in the city gettin' sick, now they're goin' on about Redstonia and Champion City being torn apart by whatever-the-Hell-this-is too...God forbid they actually _tell_ us anything, though," he added under his breath, rubbing at his temples.

"Did they say how many people are-" Harper's voice caught just a little on the last word. "-sick?"

Ivor reached out and threaded his fingers through hers. "Enough. No, too many," was all he said, bestowing a tight squeeze upon her hand. "But not us."

Harper didn't reply. _But not us._ As though they were too quick, too clever for it. That was probably what all those others had deluded themselves into believing too. And look at how well _that_ was turning out.

Then again, she supposed that nobody ever really thought anything like this could actually happen. Everything they thought they knew, collapsing in on itself in the blink of an eye. In a snap of the fingers. She certainly hadn't.

Stupid of her. Hadn't she already lost everything once before?

 _Don't borrow any more more trouble than you've already got, Harper. If there was ever a time when you should not tempt fate, it's now._

Quite suddenly, there was more clutching at Ivor's throat than simply fear.

Hands. Mottled purple-grey skin peeling in numerous places, flakes the size of postcards hanging off like cheap tissue paper. As dead as the dead, dead, _dead_ purple eyes boring into his own with chilling emptiness. What used to be its mouth stretched open into a gaping maw, choking out a hellish gagging sound-

A blade swung through the air, slicing the thing's head clean off in a spray of blackish blood.

Ivor staggered backwards, pulling a deathly pale Harper out of the way as it pitched forward into the dirt. Behind the spot where it had just been stood a haggard girl in torn clothes, holding her sword aloft in a white-knuckled grip, chest heaving.

Ivor stared at her wordlessly for a good few seconds, still seeing those soulless purple-tinted eyes, until the ground lurched violently under his feet, jolting him back into reality. "Petra? Where's your father?"

"Can't find him," Petra muttered, her dark eyes darting around, standing out like bruises in her ashen face. Something in it seemed to change, tauten, before she heaved a shuddery breath. "You guys go on. I'll stay here and do whatever I can."

" _Petra_." Harper grabbed the girl's shoulders as though she could shake some sense into her. "I'm sorry, but this is beyond our help right now. And we're definitely not gonna be helping _anyone_ , least of all your dad, if we let you get yourself killed out there."

Petra roughly shook her off. "This is just something I have to do. Go ahead. I'll meet up with you on the other side, I swear I will. And I'll bring my dad with me. He'll know what to do. He always does." Her voice was thick with a strained conviction. Desperate to believe her own words.

Magnus threw his hands up. "Hell, let her stay if she wants to stay! Let someone else burst her bubble!"

"What? No-" Harper reached for Petra's arm again, fully intent on dragging the kid along with them if she had to, but Petra recoiled like she'd been burned, jerking herself free and darting out of reach, taking off in the direction Harper, Ivor and Magnus had just come from without looking back.

Ivor's lip curled. "Such _bravery_." He shook his head as Petra's red hair vanished into the chaos. "Of course, there's often a very fine line between _bravery_ and _stupidity_. And she's just crossed it."

Harper gazed at the spot where the girl had disappeared as though she was struggling to register it, opening her mouth to speak - but whatever she was about to say was lost beneath another explosion, this one close enough to jar every nerve in her body. Another layer of screams rang out, their owners hurling themselves to the ground and covering their heads, entire walls caving in, Magnus shoving both Ivor and Harper forward, the three of them barely making it out of the path of the smoking debris raining down behind them.

Harper's throat constricted, but she forced herself to keep on running ever faster even as she twisted to look back over her shoulder, heart all but throwing itself against her ribs. "If something happens to her...not only would Gabriel never forgive us, _I'd_ never forgive us."

"You heard her, Harper. It'd be a waste of time to try and convince her." Ivor's words came out clipped. "And time is exactly what we _don't have_."

Harper shook her own head, jaw clenching. "Fine. But if she doesn't meet us there, I'm going back to look for her," she said in that tone Ivor had long since learned not to argue with.

Ivor closed his eyes briefly, releasing a long-overdue sigh through his teeth. "Let's get _ourselves_ there in one piece before anything, shall we?"

The buildings (or, in many cases, what was left of them) were beginning to peter out, instead being replaced by clusters of trees glowering down at the three of them, their shadows drawing long figures upon the ground. The upheaval was growing fainter, more muffled, now. But it still lingered in the air, reverberating in their ears, prickling deep in their skin, all the strangers' faces they'd felt that they recognised simply by the expressions that had ranged from utterly distraught to hauntingly emotionless tattooed upon every swathe of darkness.

That wasn't what made them stumble to a halt, though.

"Stop right there."

A lone figure had materialised in a clearing a little off to the side, his pallid face (the only part of him that was really visible, as his dark suit made him seem almost a part of the night) coldly expressionless, seemingly indifferent to the tumult still being borne towards them on the wind. In his gloved hand was a single torch, its flame reflecting oddly off the dull gold monocle-like device that covered one eye.

"Nobody comes in. Nobody goes out. I suggest you turn around and go right back to where you came from."

Magnus bristled, moving to the side in an attempt to shield Ivor and Harper despite being quite a bit shorter than either of them. "Listen, _buddy_ , we've just been through _Hell_!"

"Magnus," hissed Ivor, arm curled protectively around Harper's side. "Shut up and just _think_ for a second, will you?" And he nodded towards the block of TNT sitting on the ground in front of the deeply hostile-seeming guard. Just waiting for a spark.

After a few seconds' hesitation, Harper stepped stiffly forward as much as she dared, trembling hands half-raised in what she fervently hoped was a gesture empty of any sort of threat. "Look, we're not...sick. None of us. You can clearly see that. All we need is-"

But the guard cut her off, not acknowledging anything any of them had said. "It's my duty to bring order to all these...poor, chaotic individuals." His face was a blank mask. Yet his eye blazed with something almost demonic. "And when that order is threatened...I eliminate the threat."

He opened the fist of his other hand to reveal a flint and steel gleaming like a silver bullet under the torchlight.

And Ivor knew what was going to happen an instant before it did. After all, even though some people were sworn to protect the world and everything in it, they were almost always the ones with all the power. The ones who understood what caused pain.

His intent was to throw himself to the side whilst gripping Harper in one arm and catching Magnus in the chest with the other, effectively hurling them all out of harm's way. He barely managed to fling his arms out before the clearing erupted all around them in a flash of light.

Ears ringing. A faintly metallic taste somewhere in his mouth. Head splitting along some invisible seam. Something warm and red trickling down his face and dripping steadily onto his neck.

Dull footsteps. Rough hands hauling him to his feet. And then Ivor was face to face with Magnus.

He was quick to shake off the shock and find his voice, gripping the griefer's shoulders emphatically. "Are all of the ways in and out guarded? There has to be one _somewhere_ that...that isn't..."

The words died on his tongue. Magnus's wide eyes were fixed on something out of Ivor's line of sight and something in his friend's expression made Ivor's blood run ice cold.

Time stilled for one eternal moment until Ivor turned around to look behind him.

And barely managed to catch Harper before her blood-splattered form fell to the ground.

* * *

It's like the worst kind of betrayal, the ultimate breach of faith, isn't it? The cold hard fact that forever is never quite as long as you think. The feeling of all your thoughts and ideas of having all the time in the world being ripped away from you. The sudden forced realisation that in the end, nobody really ever gets long enough.

And you can hold them in your arms as tightly as if you could keep them hanging onto life and yourself from falling into the chasm opening up beneath you that way, you can whisper _"stay with me"_ and mutter all sorts of stupid useless lies like _"you're going to be fine"_ while every fibre of your being is crying that they _have to_ be fine, because _this isn't right, this isn't fair, their life should be measured in decades, not moments, never moments_ , moments that are slipping through your fingers even as you hold and whisper and mutter...

All the while, something inside you will still tear and bleed with the knowledge that there's nothing you can do.

Nothing except watch as she tried to form speech and only managed to hack a series of deep, wet, bloody coughs. As the light began to fracture in her eyes, the tenuous grip her hand had on his own (slick with his futile attempts at staunching her wounds) slackening before sliding away altogether.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Nothing. No heartbeat next to his.

Six breaths.

Later, it always seemed much longer and much shorter – because of course Ivor clung on to the memories almost as desperately as he wanted to bury them.

They were all that remained.

* * *

 **...I have nothing to say for myself here, except that it pained me to have to do that. Sadly, as much as I love Harper, it simply to be. I'm si** **ncerely sorry if it upset any of you. But...if you didn't check the rating before clicking, then...well, let this be a warning that although I do intend for this story to have a happy(ish) ending eventually, there is quite a lot of bad stuff coming for some of our favourite blocky people.**

 **If you guys would like to see more anyway (and in spite of how spectacularly bad it was), then please let me know,** **because I really do want to not only continue this, but also see it through to the end :) (of course, if you guys think I should do the decent thing and toss it into a bonfire, I would absolutely not blame you.)**

 **For now, though, it's Sunday, it's getting late and it's just...been a very long week.**

 **Happy Holidays, wrap yourselves up toasty warm and drink plenty of hot chocolate!**

 **(*tiredly tips hat*)**

 **~ Rainy**


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm trying, you guys...as fast as I can.**

 **Review Replies:**

 _ **Toni42**_ **: As ever, you are too kind to me. Peppering in a few of the actual lines from the game was fun; I hoped you guys would like that little detail. ...actually, I...sort of forgot to add that bit in. All the times I've played through the prologue and I forgot to put it in. (Ten points to Dweeby McDweebypants over here, I guess.) Although...I don't want there to be quite as many parallels between Harper and Jesse as there is between Sarah and Ellie, since it's a different sort of relationship, so...maybe that's okay? I'm happy that you liked it, anyway.**

 _ **TheAmberShadow**_ **: Yes, I love those two, and I love writing them. I'm glad you think that little part was true to Magnus's character. Hmm, Wither Zombies...pretty good way to describe it, actually – although I** _ **have**_ **taken a few liberties with the Wither Sickness here and there, but it's still more or less the same in essentials. Well...I, um...I think I'm gonna just...go and... (*insert the sound of Raintag creeping back into their hiding place like the character-murdering scum they are*)**

 _ **SpiritFighter208**_ **: ...you guys are very good at making me feel horribly guilty. Will you be seeing the others like Soren and Ellegaard? Yes, indeed you will; I already have roles planned out for both of them. Not for a while yet, I'm afraid, but they'll definitely be showing up in the future. Your enthusiasm is very much appreciated.**

 _ **FeathersOfFancy**_ **: ...wow, I...don't really know what to say to that, except thank you so very much for the incredibly kind words (and believe me, it broke my shippy little heart to have to do it). I really hope that I somehow manage to live up to that.**

* * *

 _ **Twelve years later**_

He was pitched back into the fragments of reality with a jolt, struggling for breath as though he really had just been floundering through the murky swamp of memory. Held underwater by a subconscious search for clarity where there was none. Its poison lingering in his lungs and seeping thickly into his head.

The clock called it six thirty-four in the morning – whatever that meant anymore. If anything, it probably meant little more than another endless stretch of daylight, reaching through the windows to curl its fingers around him and drag him in yet again.

He wanted darkness. He wanted silence. He didn't want to see anything, and he couldn't stand to _be_ seen. Or reminded. Most of all, he wanted to wake up next to _her_ , to be greeted with her face inches from his own the instant his eyes opened.

Not that time had ever given a damn what he wanted. It simply went on ticking.

The heels of his hands pressed deep into his eyelids until all he could see was spots of colour, melding into one another like some poor imitation of an artist's palette. Breathing in ashes, exhaling the kind of dreams that thrive off a dwindling will to live.

Then unbidden into the room came a hammering noise that sent tendrils of splitting pain shooting across his forehead, along with the impatient call of a name that sounded like his, as if there was something that mattered.

A raspy half-growl, half-groan scraped its way out of his mouth. It took several long moments to identify both the voice and the noise as someone pounding on the crooked rectangle of rusted metal that, although it could barely be called a door, at least provided some form of separation between dilapidated building (really, why should he bother trying to call it a home? If home is where one's heart is, then what happens when one's heart has not only gone where it can never be reached again but has been gone for what feels like mere days and entire centuries all at once?) and the bleak, dark, shattered reality that awaited outside.

He shoved all such thoughts to the back of his mind where he no longer had to look at them. Where they belonged.

The door was jerked open to reveal an unkempt young woman, whose only reaction was to raise a fire-red eyebrow at him.

"You're late," Ivor ground out, the words grating in his throat.

Petra spared him a shrug, meeting his glower head-on with an unimpressed look. "All good things are worth waiting for." Wisely not wasting either of their time with further useless preamble, she pushed her way past him into the poorly lit dwelling. Her eyes fell almost immediately upon a glass vial sitting atop a chest pushed carelessly against the nearest wall, its contents glowing a luminous purple in the gloom.

" _Don't_ touch that," growled Ivor, snatching the bottle away before her hand could do more than twitch towards it.

She rolled her eyes (a mannerism that had been honed to perfection over all the years he'd known her), but let her hand drop all the same.

With an eye roll of his own, accompanied by a muttered curse or two, he turned his back on her, stalking over to his shelves and none-too-gently setting the vial down onto the top one as he spoke. "I assume you're going to tell me what you've been doing that's so important that you turn up here a day late and clearly haven't got any of the things I told you to bring to me?"

Her eyebrows knitted themselves into a scowl. "What do you _think_?" she demanded around a clenched jaw. "Stella still has my sword – the one with all the enchantments and stuff. Won't let me have it until she thinks I've done enough to-" She imitated Stella's nauseatingly sugary voice. " _-earn it back_."

"Why would she? It sounds like she has exactly what she needs," Ivor drawled. "And _you_ have exactly what you earned."

Petra's face flushed, arms crossing and jaw tightening still further until she wouldn't have been all that surprised if the few people standing around in the street outside could hear her teeth grinding. "I thought she just wanted to _display_ it; I thought I could still _use_ it!"

Ivor said nothing, merely curled his lip in disdain at such stupidity. She pulled a sour face back at him, refusing to be put at a disadvantage, before continuing.

"And then on my way here, I had this run-in with Aiden. Turns out Stella's been pretty busy. She's gotten Isa more outside connections than we thought." She let out a mirthless snort. "Though why either of them would actually want to work with that tool and his stupid goons..."

"Aiden?" Ivor repeated, his brows lowering. "The Ocelots' Aiden?"

"How many other Aidens do we know?" she deadpanned. "I already knew you were going senile, but come on..."

His features immediately twisted themselves into a responding sneer, all but out of patience. God only knew why he'd even kept the stubborn, snarky fool around for as long as he had. Certainly not out of any sort of sense of obligation to his former friend. It wasn't as though Gabriel wanted or cared about anything anymore, after all.

"But…" Petra held up her hands as though to placate him, though an amused gleam remained in her eyes. "I know exactly where we can find that little slimeball."

Ah, that was right. It was because she was useful – when she wanted to be.

Ivor stilled briefly, hand instinctively drifting to the assortment of vials attached to his belt. "Do you, now?"

Her lips twitched into a faint, satisfied smile at his tone. "You're damn right I do." Her expression darkened with that familiar determination – and for a fleeting moment, Ivor saw her father's eyes. "Which means _I'll_ get to settle a few scores and _he'll_ tell me where Stella's keeping my sword and how we can track Isa down whether he likes it or not."

Ivor was already striding towards the doorway she'd conveniently left open, requiring no further prompting. "There's no ' _I_ ' in ' _team_ ', Petra," he said over his shoulder, in a manner that could be light if it wasn't so utterly devoid of mirth or warmth. But why pretend? She knew as well as he did that he was far from some sentimental team player, but the prospect of another person to revenge himself against, another person upon whom to force some fraction of what he experienced every day of his life, often changed things in that regard - however temporarily and capriciously it was.

"No, but there is a ' _me_ ' in ' _I'm gonna kick their butts_ '," Petra darted back, her face and voice filled with the same dark promise as he was.

* * *

 **...yeah.**

 **This was...this was bad, I know. And seriously late (writing has become...really,** _ **really**_ **difficult – which I realise is a poor excuse and I am terribly sorry). And short. I wanted to take it up** **to Ivor and Petra finding their way out of the quarantine zone so as to hunt Aiden down, but...well, it's something, anyway.**

 **If you could take the time to drop a review, even if it's just to remind me that I suck, then you'd be making a silly dweeb very happy. For now, though, I am burning with a raging fever and it hurts to swallow and I'm more than ready to fall into a coma.**

 **Bye for now – and have a lovely weekend.**

 **(*awkwardly tips hat*)**

 **~ Rainy**


	3. Chapter 3

**(*sheepish smile*) Aaaaand here I go again, breaking extremely long stretches of radio silence by posting months later for no good reason like the lazy waste of time and space I am…**

 **A fine evening to you, dear readers - assuming anyone is indeed still reading at this point. I…just keep apologising for the constant delays, don't I? (Just for those of you who are new here, though: I am a slow, useless writer. In my defence, this...isn't an easy time for me, you know?) Either way, thank you all for your continued patience and support; it means a lot.**

 **Review Replies:**

 ** _Toni42_** **: I am a prehistoric dinosaur; it's official. It always makes me happy when fantastic writers like you compliment my garbage. Aiden is indeed taking up Robert's role, partly because I think I can make it work and partly because… (*trails off into mutters that sound a lot like** ** _I_** ** _couldn't really think of anyone else_** ***)**

 ** _TheAmberShadow_** **: Fret not, my friend; I don't particularly want to abandon the story. It _is_ quite a relief to hear that you guys don't mind (extremely) slow updates, though. Angst is food for my write-y soul. (*eyes slowly trail to the side*) You're…certainly not wrong – about the 'getting some purpose back into his life' part ****_or_** **about the 'incredibly dangerous' part. I hope you enjoy.**

 ** _Yam_** **: Don't worry, I was never really planning to** ** _not_** **continue this. I…can't say I've ever experienced that, since I sadly do not own a cat, as much as I'd love and cherish one. Thank you for the kind words of encouragement.**

 ** _xxLilacLavenderxx_** **: Heh, I** ** _always_** **put more pressure on myself than I probably should, but…I suppose you're right. I can try. Oh, I hated having to do it; I love Harper. Hmm, you expected that Petra would die because of her sickness in the game…that's interesting, to say the least. Thank youuuu.**

 ** _Alice Forshadow_** **: Thank you. I'm sorry it's been so long, but here's more.**

* * *

The sun burned a yellow-tinged orange as it slowly climbed its way above the horizon, filtered between a greyish haze.

Petra's hand reached reflexively for a golden hilt every once in a while, only for her fingers to close around nothing but thin air. A grimace darkened her face as she led the way across what had once been a cobbled pavement, clearly displeased about her lack of a blade, while Ivor brought up the rear with one hand upon his vial-festooned belt (that one small gesture sufficing to assure any onlookers of his thorough willingness to use those vials), throwing around an occasional glare that made almost everyone it fell upon draw back as though scalded.

As it was, the majority of the people that they passed were huddled like penguins in corners and doorsteps - or, in many cases, what was left of them - and almost managing to blend in with the dull, blank silence of their surroundings, if not for their constant mutterings, whispering about friends and neighbours who'd gone suddenly missing over the past couple of weeks and associates who'd been seized for some trivial offence.

Grey stone, grey people.

The small number of structures that were still standing mostly intact were riddled with cracks and shattered windows and creeping ivy, all of which stood out like scars - though none of those stood out in quite the same way the stains that could be found peppering the walls, still gleaming fresh and red. Petra looked down at the cobbles just underneath them with a deeply creased brow, her boot toe nudging a government tester stick lying abandoned.

"They're being _extra-efficient_ lately, huh?"

"Such...wastefulness," was all Ivor said, before striding on past without so much as a grimace at the gory splatters all over the stones. What did he care? Why should he ever care?

After an infinitesimal pause, Petra nodded stiffly and continued on, slipping shadow-like around the corner that led to the deliberately poorly-lit labyrinth known as Bad Luck Alley.

The building that Jack had once called his 'emporium' (and that Ivor had called ' that ludicrously overglorified shop of his') stood just as dark and empty as it had been for years on end now. Even so, Petra darted a surreptitious glance at the storefront as though seriously hoping that the man might have magically turned back up. Ivor didn't trouble himself to hold back an eye roll at that. The entire reason Jack had left was because he'd decided he didn't want this anymore. And Ivor could hardly blame him for that.

The only person there now was a young bookseller who had set up a shabby little stall in the street just outside the entrance - made shabbier still by the presence of about a dozen meowing cats jumping and climbing all over it. The seller themselves was a short, thin person of perhaps eighteen or nineteen, darting around the occasional glance from under their brown hair but mostly keeping their head ducked downwards, busying themselves with petting one or the other of the felines or else shifting their merchandise around with an air of neurosis.

They looked up, however, as Petra and Ivor drew near, a ridiculous ray of hope lighting their pale face. Ivor responded to this with a stony look at the seller and a scowl in the direction of their furry, probably flea-ridden pets. _Cats._ How he hated the wretched creatures.

"Do you know if Reginald's on guard duty today?" Petra asked the seller abruptly, not bothering with a greeting.

Their face fell, but after a hesitation, they resigned themselves to nodding and pointing a stone's throw away to their left, where the alley came to a forcible end thanks to the addition of high fences and some guard or another always being posted there, marking the start of what was considered 'out of bounds'. Straying into such an area was just one of an endless list of punishable offences.

Reginald automatically barred Ivor and Petra's way with his blade as they approached, but upon recognising their faces by the torchlight (or perhaps it was just the effect of Ivor's obvious lack of patience being written in his every feature), he grudgingly slid the gate open as quietly as possible and allowed them to pass, evidently having no desire to hear what they were up to. "Just make sure you're back before curfew; I refuse to be held responsible for what happens if you're not," he hissed after them, even though they were both already well aware of that by now, having heard some version of it at least a hundred times.

Ivor, of course, took it upon himself to grumble as much under his breath for good measure.

* * *

"You should probably choose your cards more carefully, Aiden," Petra told the squirming boy lightly, pressing her foot deeper into his chest. "Unless you want _them_ to play _you_."

"I...you...it's- it's not...I dunno what you've-"

"I suggest you tell us where Stella is and what she's planning with Isa," Ivor advised him in a bored tone, cutting through Aiden's stammering - and rather enjoying the sight of someone who had always been yet another thorn in Ivor's side now sprawled in an undignified heap on the ground with his stupid smirk wiped off and the handle of Petra's pickaxe pinning him down by his throat.

Aiden swallowed, eyes darting to where Ivor's fingers were curled around a vial containing a particularly nasty-looking concoction...and then suddenly trailing past, fixed on something behind him. And Ivor had a very good idea of what - or rather, who - even before he followed the boy's gaze.

From her impossibly pristine (and ridiculously impractical) suit and pin-neat hair to the snowy white llama bleating softly at her side, Stella looked so utterly out of place that it would have been hilarious in most other contexts. Not that it prevented a scornful smile from curving Petra's mouth anyway as she scrambled to her feet, though still remaining close enough to Aiden to be a warning not to try anything. Aiden took a few instinctive steps backwards, though stopped very quickly when he almost toppled over the edge of the half-collapsed bridge they'd chased him onto.

"What is it you want this time, Petra?" Stella asked as sweetly as though they were talking this through over lunch, not acknowledging her apparent new best friend Aiden in the slightest. "Don't push _too_ hard, now..."

"Sword." Petra's voice was almost a growl as she jabbed herself in the chest with one finger. " _My_ sword."

" _Oh_." Stella's tinkling laughter broke icily into the air. "Oh, Petra. Sweetie. You _know_ the rules. You have to work off your debt to _us_ first. And I don't remember saying you could allow... _others_ to get involved in our business." As she spoke, Stella shot a heavily pointed look in Ivor's direction.

Ivor's mouth thinned. "I'm fairly certain neither you nor Isa ever mentioned anything to Petra and I about an 'us' either. And I don't like surprises," he retorted, looking right back at her with dislike etched deep in his face.

Behind them, Aiden was slowly clambering to his feet, rubbing at his neck with all of his cocky smugness replaced by a wince.

Stella's sickly smile flickered, but she hitched it back onto her lips, examining her fingernails with a feigned indifference. "If that's how you see it...I suppose we can discuss this more at a later-"

"Oh, I think we'll discuss it now," Ivor said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, _fine_." With a dramatic huff, Stella mounted her llama and looked down at them all in what she seemed to think was a majestic manner. "There's something I-"

"'We'", Aiden interjected, perhaps not as strongly as he'd intended.

" _We_ ," Stella huffed again, "need to be taken somewhere. If you manage to pull that off for me -for us- then...perhaps I'll see about a more substantial reward than just your sword. Aiden, you stay here-"

"But..." Aiden protested weakly. "Wait...I don't know how to get back in alone..."

"-and both of you follow me." Before Petra and Ivor had time to do more than exchange distinctly sceptical looks, Stella had tossed her hair and trotted away on the llama's back.

"Wait!" Aiden's voice was so high, it was almost a squeak. "The...the guards know me and...you can't...if you leave me behind, they'll catch me here! I'll die!"

Ivor's eyebrows rose in mock-thoughtfulness. "That's certainly true," he agreed, exchanging a meaningful look with Petra and then striding on in the direction Stella had disappeared. Petra would know what to do.

Sure enough, from behind him came the sound of rapid footsteps, then the quick swish and dull thud of a pickaxe being swung against stone, and finally a startled gasp that was abruptly cut off by a high-pitched scream.

Ivor glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Aiden plummeting downwards, green eyes wide and obviously harbouring the belief that the whole world had somehow given out from beneath him rather than a mere chunk of stone. As the fool's yells faded until he hit the water with a splash, and as Petra caught up to him with a satisfied grin, Ivor's sole reaction was to quirk up an eyebrow. "That's that problem solved," he commented, so dryly that if anyone else had been in the vicinity, they'd have immediately wanted a glass of water.

* * *

Some way away, a teenaged kid who was distinct from millions of others only in their height (or rather, their distinctive lack of it) and in their choice of companion (namely a little pig who was asleep with his chin resting atop their knee) was pushing themselves into a sitting position with a soft groan that, wordless as it was, spoke of a troubled night's sleep. One hand drifted upwards in an attempt to push a muddle of dark hair out of their slightly puffy eyes, a purple-dyed streak falling back into them even so.

It was still early; on the other side of the cracked windowpane, orange-gold streaks were dancing all along the world's invisible border. The kid gave up on the idea of further rest all the same, instead gently trailing their fingers over their piggy's little pink head and _thinking_.

Just thinking.

It was okay. Everything was going to be okay. Isa had promised.

Yet promises had popped like balloons before their eyes so many times already. And it was all because of this…this _thing_. Something else that they didn't ask for and never wanted but was still _theirs_. So really…it wasn't just the thing. Not really, not all of it. It was _them_.

Their own fault. Again.

The kid squeezed their eyes shut, clinging to their piggy, who stirred and gave a tiny, drowsy oink as his human's grip tightened around him. "It's okay, Reuben," they murmured, voice coming out only a little wobbly. "We're okay."

 _Not long now_ , that's what they'd been told many times over – most especially by both Isa and that other woman, the one with the peculiarly shiny blonde hair and the voice that stuck like melted sugar to one's skin. They'd wanted to pet her llama. Not long to go until it would all be fine and then…then everyone would help the kid to find _them_ , both of them.

(Promises.)

And everything would go back to the way it was. It'd be all right again at last. As if nothing had ever happened to begin with.

(So many promises.)

They tilted their head up towards the morning sun trickling in through the window, letting its rays unfurl over their tired face. They trusted Isa. They _needed_ to trust Isa. Something good, something new and even just a little bit hopeful, had to come out of this tangled mess. It _had_ to.

…hadn't it?

* * *

 **…** **I couldn't really think of a halfway-good way to end this chapter, so…have the slightly cliché fallback known as a rhetorical question. Please forgive me. (And also forgive the tiny little self-insert; I just couldn't help myself.)**

 **Oh, also, I know many of you will be aware of this already, but Toni42 has a webcomic called** ** _Withered_** **, which is based around his version of this AU, and you can take a look at it on the witheredmcsm Tumblr blog. Our respective creations are unrelated to each other (that said, since Toni and I are close friends who are using the same concept, we** ** _have_** **been bouncing ideas off one another quite a bit and helping one another to figure out a few sticky spots, so if you do notice some similarities between the two, then it's likely that they were discussed and agreed upon by us – and any that weren't are completely coincidental), but if you like this story, you'll definitely like his (much better) comic.**

 **Okay, well, I** ** _think_** **that's all I have to say for now, so I shall see you ladies, gentlemen and distinguished nonbinaries next time.**

 **(*awkwardly tips hat*)**

 **~ Rainy**

 **(PS: I just realised I made it seem like Petra killed Aiden. He is not dead; let's imagine that Minecraft physics are at play here so he hit the water safely ;-;)**


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